But the maid's taste was correct--nothing more simply elegant or effective could have been devised than the dress of white lace and the cluster of green leaves on the fair hair. Hyacinth hardly remembered how the time passed until he came. She heard his footsteps--heard his voice; and her heart beat, her face flushed, her whole soul seemed to go out to meet him. "Hyacinth," he cried, clasping her hand, "this day seemed to me as long as a century." Lady Vaughan was sitting alone in her favorite arm-chair near the open window. Adrian went up to her, leading Hyacinth by the hand. "Dearest Lady Vaughan," he said, "can you guess what I have to tell you?" The fair old face beamed with smiles. "Is it what I have expected, Adrian?" she asked. "Does my little Hyacinth love you?" The girl hid her blushing face; then she sunk slowly on her knees, and the kind old hands were raised to bless her. They trembled on her bowed head; Hyacinth seized them and covered them with passionate kisses and tears. She had thought them stern hands once, and had felt disposed to fly from their guidance; but now, as she kissed them, she blessed and thanked them that their guidance had brought her to this happy haven of rest. "Heaven bless you, my child!" said the feeble voice. The lady bowed her stately head and fair old face over the young girl. "If you have ever thought me stern, Hyacinth," she said--"if you have ever fancied the rules I laid down for you hard--remember it was all for your own good. The world is full of snares--some of them cruel ones--for the unwary. I saw that you were full of romance and poetry; and I--I did my best, my dear. If you have thought me hard, you must forgive me now--it was all for your own good. I know the value of a pure mind, an innocent heart, and a spotless name; and that is the dowry you bring your husband. No queen ever had one more regal. The Vaughans are a proud old race. There has never been even the faintest slur or shadow resting on any one who bore the name; and the highest praise that I can give you is that you are worthy to bear it." Adrian did not know why the fair young head was bent in such lowly humility, why such passionate sobs rose to the girl's lips as he raised her and held her for a moment in his arms. "Go to your room, Hyacinth, and remove all traces of tears," said Lady Vaughan. "We must be glad, not sorry, this evening--it is your betrothal night. And see, here are the papers, Sir Arthur; now you will be quite happy, and forgive that unfortunate mail train." CHAPTER XVI.